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I got home from Europe3 just before Christmas and have not yet got through the mountain of letters which accumulated in my long absence, but I want to skip a few hundred unanswered letters and drop a line to you, because last night I picked up the Yale Review4 and read your article5 on Mark Twain6.
I knew Mark Twain during my first year in New York2, when he was living on lower Fifth Avenue and spent most of his time in bed. Because I knew the man himself, Mr. Brooks7' book8 has always seemed to me one of the most glaring pieces of misapprehension that ever happened in a world full of mistakes. Mr. Brooks simply has no idea of what the real man was like; and I am afraid the imaginary Mark Twain, Mr. Brooks creates, would never have written "Huckleberry Finn"9. I don't know Mr. Brooks personally, but I have always heard good things about his scholarship and integrity. When he wrote about Mark Twain, he simply made a bad choice of subject, and I suspect from the general tone of his book that he could never have understood old Mr. Clemens at all: and if he had chanced to know him, I am afraid the intercourse would have been a series of mild, but painful, shocks!
This letter, you will understand, is confidential. It is not for me to contradict
Mr.
Brooks. But it is a great relief to me that some one has boldly refused to swallow
this sentimental view of Mr. Clemens as a blighted genius, and you were certainly
the man to do it. You could do it in the course of your usual activities; while I
would have had to step so far out of mine, that it would have looked almost as if
I
had some personal grudge,.
so I really feel very grateful to you. If Mr. Brooks
could have seen that old lion in his bed telling stories to three or four young
people, if he could have seen this for five minutes, he could never have written his
book.